


Louder Than Words

by CeslaToil



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Brunch, Date almost ruined by homophobic a-holes, Kisses, M/M, One-Shot, Pacifica continues to be embarrassed by every member of her family, Post-Finale, Some Enchanted Evening AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8182819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeslaToil/pseuds/CeslaToil
Summary: For whatever reason, Pricilla Northwest thought it would be a good idea to loudly criticize Fiddleford within earshot of Stanford Pines. What an incredibly stupid woman.





	

The cafe was rather slow that morning, which was fine, Fiddleford hated crowds almost as much as he seemed to love going to brunch. Ford blamed this newfound passion for gourmet breakfast foods on Puck; the dratted creature thought of himself as an epicurean chef, and so Fiddleford's diet had gone through a cataclysmic shift as his new servant created more and more fanciful dishes for him to eat every day. Ford couldn't complain, seeing Fidds happy and well fed brought him nothing but joy, even if it did come at the cost of paying seventeen dollars for an omelette.

The peace of the little cafe was interrupted when one of the servers lead a party of three to a table adjacent to theirs; two women, both almost identically nipped and tucked, and a young girl Ford vaguely recognized as one of Dipper and Mabel's friends. The little blonde Northwest girl-- Ford was ashamed to admit that he didn't quite remember her name. (Prudence? Penelope? Petronella? Oh well. He'd ask Mabel again once he came back from the date.)

He quickly pushed the thought to the side-- Fidds was passionately describing a new invention he'd had in mind, an energy efficient toaster that would be a first in a line of eco-friendly kitchen appliances that would make the current models obsolete. Ford smiled contentedly as Fidds became increasingly excited about the project the more he spoke of it-- sure, his voice was getting a bit on the loud side of things, but Ford couldn't help but adore Fidds when he had these sparks of innovation about him.

It wasn't until Fidds accidentally spilled some of his mimosa on his beard that Ford noticed anything odd. For whatever reason, the two women at the other table seemed to find the incident hilarious, giggling nastily as Fidds straightened the delicate glass back  on the table right side up. Ford thought he saw the Northwest girl roll her eyes at the two women, muttering "Mom, Aunt Melania, get a grip, it wasn't even that funny."

If Fidds had heard them, he had chosen to ignore the laughter. He excused himself, stating that he was going to wash up in the restroom. Before he left, he took one of Ford's hands and gave it a brief, gentle kiss. As Fidds disappeared to the other side of the restaurant, Ford absolutely swelled with affection. This elated feeling was squelched, however, by the sneers the other women were giving him.

Didn't these women have anything else to do besides gape at him all day? Ford wasn't the most socially adept person, but he was quite sure that, in most dimensions, staring at a complete stranger was considered pretty rude. The girl had enough sense to be embarrassed by her family's behavior. She mouthed "sorry" to Ford, shaking her head as her mother took a sip out of her champagne flute, a haughty smirk still etched across her stiff, plastic face.

Ford gave the girl a quick nod; he understood what it was like to have obnoxious parents. Deciding that he didn't want to look at the women any more than he had to, Ford turned his attention to the cocktail menu that stood on a delicate silver stand in the middle of the table. As he was scrutinizing the Matcha Mint Julep, he heard one of the women whisper with all the delicacy of stampeding rhino, "Doesn't it make you sick to your stomach, seeing the freaks out like that?"

Ford did not look up from the menu, though his insides turned to ice at these words. Did he really have to go through this today?

"It must be difficult for you Prissy," said the other woman, tossing her brunette tresses to the side as she spoke; Ford had a brief image flash of a show horse rearing its head back, main blowing in the wind as it whinnied. "Seeing the old fool who bought your home running around town with whatever degenerates he can find."

This wasn't new-- Ford had been called his fair share of slurs in his youth and even into late adulthood. 'Degenerate' was almost classy by typical bigot standards. He wouldn't rise to their mockery. Over sixty years worth of constant insults, from his hands to his nose to just about every other nit-picking fault lesser people would find in him, he'd learned to ignore it all. Showing people like Prissy and Mel that they hurt him would only let them win. Besides, Fiddleford was probably the most intelligent person in the building. Let them think what they want.

"It's nothing Mel-- money can't always buy class," said Prissy, folding her arms across her chest. 

 _Well you'd certainly know_ , thought Ford, _as you don't possess either_.  

"Such a waste, though," sighed Mel. "Why are all the hot ones gay?"

 _.... What._ Ford made the sort of face normally reserved for when people caught scent of freshly laid manure on a hot summer day. She went out of her way to insult him, then dared say she found him _attractive?_   Disgusting. The girl, stuck between her mother and aunt's cringe-worthy conversation, dropped her head to the table with a mortified thud.

"Honey, keep your forehead off the table, we're in public," snipped Prissy, pushing her daughter up right with one hand.

"Who knows," Mel continued, eying Ford hungrily, "Maybe I can try converting that one."

 _If the french toast I just ate hadn't cost almost twenty dollars I would vomit it all over your botox infected face right now._ He clutched the cocktail menu tightly in his hand, almost crumpling the delicate paper as he stared intently at the options. Clearly these women were delusional.  As soon as Fiddleford comes back, he was going to pay for the check and leave. He didn't have to put up with this, no one should. 

"Please," said Prissy disdainfully, "Do you really want the hillbilly's sloppy seconds? Have some respect for yourself, Mel, he's damaged goods."

" _Mom,_ " the Northwest girl looked about as livid as Ford felt, "Stop being so embarrassing."

"What's embarrassing is the fact we're barely scraping by and that loser hobo is now living in our home," sniffed Priscilla, not even bothering to keep her voice down. "If things were in their proper place, we'd still be living like royalty and he'd be down in the slop with his mutant boyfriend where he belongs--"

_SLAM._

He had knocked over the chair he was sitting on when he had stood up, skidding the furniture across the floor as he turned to glare at the women. Mel gave a horrified laugh that died on her lips when she saw the murderous glare Ford was giving them. Pacifica was also glaring, not at him certainly, but at her mother, who met Stanford's gaze with chilly resolve, daring him to say something to her. She was going to get her wish-- he would curse, insult, deride her in every language he knew on this earth and dimensions beyond. How could she even dare say these ungrateful things about Fiddleford this way, he'd helped save her along with millions of other people last summer! He'd only lived the way he had in the past because of Ford's own stupidity and arrogance, it wasn't something Fidds could help! Fidds deserved all the happiness in the world, who would even dare try to take that away with their petty insults? The witch! The she-devil! The absolute--

"Darlin'?"

Fiddleford's voice brought him back to earth. He blinked, turned to see his dearest staring up at him, alarmed by Ford's sudden temper.

"Is everything all right," Fiddleford asked, taking Ford's hand into his own, trying to get Ford to calm down. Ford blushed, he was making a scene. Ford smiled sheepishly at Fiddleford and, without paying the others a bit of mind, bowed to kiss his beloved tenderly on the lips. 

"It's nothing," said Ford once he had pulled away. "Let's pay the check. I think I heard some rats making noises in the restaurant. We shouldn't come back until they've managed to get rid of all the vermin."

Fidds glanced over to the the women sitting down at the table, two of whom were glaring at him, while the third, the stretchy one's daughter, tried to suppress her giggles. He didn't have to be an engineering genius to figure out what probably happened.

"Sounds about right," Fidds agreed, taking Ford by the arm. "We'll just start having brunch at home from now on. It's a mansion you know!"

"I think I might have caught that," said Ford, winking at him as they left to pay at the counter. As they turned the corner, Ford caught a glance at Pacifica-- that was it, Pacifica!-- giving him a small thumbs up, a gesture he returned.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not totally happy with this one, but it's something I came up with a few days ago. I hope you enjoy it more than I do.


End file.
